Peperoni ripieni - stuffed bell peppers recipe

I opened the windows to air out the apartment early this morning. It must have been seven. The crisp spring air wafted in and brought with it a curiously untimely smell of... roasted bell peppers. Who the heck roasts bell peppers at 7 am? - I wondered, as I peered out past the geraniums on the window sill.

But then I remembered, today is a holiday. On this day the city of Rome celebrates two very important fellows, St. Peter and St. Paul. Hence the bell peppers.
The Festa di San Pietro e Paolo, or properly the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, is a holiday commemorating the martyrdom in Rome of the apostles Saint Peter and Paul of Tarsus, observed on June 29th. The celebration is of ancient origin, and in Rome it is a closely observed holiday. All business shuts down and people have the day off work. Picnic lunches are packed and taken to nearby beaches. Hence the bell peppers.

Saint Peter is also known as Ben-Yonah/Bar-Yonah, Simon Peter, Cephas and Kepha (Kepha and Cephas כיפא are all words that mean 'rock') - his original name is Shimon or Simeon. In Greek Πέτρος, Pétros also means rock. Pietro (in Italian the word pietra means rock too) was one of the Twelve Apostles, chosen by Jesus from his first disciples. Pietro was a Galilean peasant who ran a fishing business. He was assigned a leadership role by Jesus (Matthew 16:18), and is always in the lists of the Twelve Apostles and is also frequently mentioned in the Gospels as forming with James the Elder and John a special group within the Twelve Apostles, present at incidents at which the others were not, such as at the Transfiguration of Jesus.

Saint Paul, also called Paul of Tarsus (whose name in ancient Greek was: Σαούλ (Saul), Σαῦλος (Saulos), and Παῦλος (Paulos) was a Pharisee who called himself the "Apostle to the Gentiles." According to the Acts of the Apostles, his conversion took place on the road to Damascus as he was en route to persecuting more Christians after having slaughtered many in Jerusalem. Paolo's influence on Christian thinking arguably has been more significant than any other New Testament author. Paul's letters are largely written to churches which he had founded or visited; he was a great traveler, visiting Cyprus, Asia Minor (modern Turkey), mainland Greece, Crete and Rome bringing the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth with him. His letters are full of expositions of what Christians should believe and how they should live. He does not tell his correspondents (or the modern reader) much about the life of Jesus; his most explicit references are to the Last Supper, the crucifixion and resurrection.

Above, Caravaggio's dynamic depictions of St. Peter's crucifixion and St. Paul's conversion

Roman Martyrology (a rather and extensive but not exhaustive list of the saints recognized by the Church) assigns June 29th as the feasts day of both Peter and Paul. St. Augustine of Hippo says in his Sermon 295: "One day is assigned for the celebration of the martyrdom of the two apostles. But those two were one. Although their martyrdom occurred on different days, they were one."

That smell of bell peppers drifting in my kitchen as I brewed breakfast espresso, brought to mind a summer recipe my mom used to make when packing a basket with goodies before hitting the beach at Ostia or Fregene every June 29th. Mamma's peperoni ripieni is a complete meal in itself, the perfect Mediterranean meal combining pasta and a seasonal veggie, all in one baked delicacy. 

That premature lunch aroma made me want to make some today, to bring to my friend Barbara's pool, where our kids will be splashing around in her garden, water wing-clad, squealing with prune fingers and and eyelashes clustered.


My mother's recipe for these refreshing Neapolitan stuffed bell peppers yields 6 servings. Why don't you celebrate San Pietro e Paolo with us today and make some yourself?

12 large bell peppers
500 g (1.1 lb) short pasta (tubular or spiraling would be best)

Extra virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves, unpeeled and smashed
5 plum tomatoes, blanched, peeled, and chopped
2 tbsp salted or pickled capers, well rinsed
3 tbsp pitted organic black olives, coarsely chopped
3 salted anchovies (visit a delicatessen for these, or use canned anchovy fillets packed in oil if you cannot find them). In any case, wash, bone, and mince them.
A small bunch of fresh basil, minced
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 180°C (350°F).

Prepare the peppers by leaving them whole and cutting around the stems, shaking out the seeds, washing them, and patting them dry. Next, broil them over the stove top flame to blister the skins, making sure you don't burn your hands. My mom's failsafe system is to then cool them off for a few minutes in a brown paper bag, the skins will peel right off: gently rub the bell peppers with a towel, taking care not to pierce the flesh. If you wish to leave the skins on you can, but in this case you'll have to increase the final baking time to an hour.

Sauté two cloves of garlic in their "shirts," that is smashed and with skins left on, in 1/4 cup olive oil, removing and discarding them when they have browned. Stir in the tomatoes and simmer for 15 minutes, then add the olives and capers, lower the heat, and cook for five more minutes. After removing the pot from the stove, stir in the anchovies, parsley and pepper.

Cook the pasta in lightly salted water until it's half cooked, drain it, and season it with the tomato sauce.

Divide the filling mixture into 12 parts and stuff the peppers. Put them in a well-oiled ovenproof dish, drizzle with olive oil to taste (I go with a lavish hand) and roast for 30-45 minutes (or an hour if you choose not to peel the peppers).

They're wonderful served cold, and even better the next day. They'll go very well with a chilled fruity white wine, for example Vernaccia, Fiano or Vermentino, and a crisp iceberg salad.

Buon San Pietro e Paolo!

Panzanella recipe

Panzanella is a fantastic (and easy) summer dish made with bread, it's a Tuscan traditional summer dish and is a great example of how Italians make good use of leftovers. I have posted several recipes that employ leftover foods: Frico, Meatballs, Riso al salto and Torta di Pane.

It's hard to catalog this traditional cucina povera preparation. For as much as the main ingredient is bread, it is not a soup, and not a salad either, even if it contains abundant veggies. It is difficult to place panzanella in the 'antipasto-primo-secondo' Italian meal articulation. Here I have classified it as an antipasto; and considering the amount of carbs, it is best paired with meats or fish and not served before a pasta dish or a Tuscan soup, many of which usually employ the use of bread or pasta in their preparations. Here's what you need for your summery panzanella:

10 slices of stale bread, or rusks, the best is pane casareccio*
6 mature heirloom tomatoes, finely chopped
1 small white onion, sliced
1 small red onion, sliced
1 cucumber, sliced
Fresh basil leaves, hand torn into shreds, the more the better
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil, plus more as the bread absorbs the condiment
1 tbsp white wine vinegar (not balsamic)
Salt and pepper 

If you're not so keen on the onion front, reduce quantities or omit the white onion altogether, granted you at least employ the more delicate red variety.

Soften the bread in water for 10 minutes while you pour some Vernaccia di San Gimignano dry white in a jug and set it in the fridge to chill.

Wring away water from the bread and crumble it coarsely with your hands in a salad bowl. Add sliced onions, chopped tomato, sliced cucumber and basil. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and drizzle with vinegar and abundant olive oil. Toss with your hands and add a little more oil to the mix.

Refrigerate 2-3 hrs before serving along with the jugful of wine.

*Note: The best leftover bread to use for this recipe is the typically Tuscan unsalted kind, but not all ovens carry it, so any healthy, home style whole-wheat kind will do.

Image © cookaround.com

Buon appetito!

Cooking tips - beans

Fagioli––Italian for beans––are the cheapest, most rendering edible leguminous plant found in Italian kitchens. The famous pasta e fagioli soup is a peasant dish, made with leftover bits of pasta and common kidney beans. Very affordable and ginormously tasty.

I'm no fundamentalist when it comes to cooking beans. I use canned beans freely (provided they be well rinsed of their gelatinous storing gunk), but the healthiest, tastiest and most common beans used in Italian cuisine are dried beans. Yes, cooking dried beans takes more time than opening a can, but you’ll be richly rewarded with superior flavor and texture. They will keep almost indefinitely, and a well-stocked Italian pantry always has a selection of two or more kinds of dried beans.

Here are a few of my mother's storing tips:

A) Dried beans should be stored at room temperature in covered containers.
B) Do not keep dried beans in the refrigerator! If stored incorrectly, the beans may absorb water and spoil before you have a chance to use them.
C) The plastic bags beans are packaged in are good for storage if they are airtight. Once opened, the bag can be closed with a twist tie.
D) For the longest storage life, keep beans in a glass or ceramic container with a tight fitting lid.

There is a specific routine when preparing dried beans and other pulse. Here it is:

1. Sort: Arrange dried beans on a sheet pan or wide platter and sort through them to pick out any small rocks, pieces of dirt, beans with holes or cavities, badly misshapen or shriveled ones and those greatly undersized or discolored. Running your fingers through the bag feels great, but is not enough.

2. Rinse: Rinse the sorted beans well in cold, running water. Do this right before soaking, as beans tend to start the rehydration process as soon as they come in contact with liquid.

3. Soak: Soaking beans before cooking shortens cooking time and helps to leech out some of those indigestible sugars that cause, among other things, proverbial bean flatulence. There are two simple ways to get the job done, one involving a longer procedure. Overnight soaking takes time and some advance planning, but needs very little effort.

a) Regular soak: Put beans into a large bowl and cover with 2 to 3 inches of cool, clean water. Set aside at room temperature for 8 hours or overnight; then drain well. (If it's really warm in your kitchen, soak the beans in the refrigerator instead to avoid fermentation, which makes the beans turn sour. Soaking in refrigerator requires a little while longer though, as cold water slows rehydration and the beans will take longer to cook)

b) Quick soak: Put beans into a large pot and cover with 2 to 3 inches of cool, clean water. Bring to a boil and turn briskly for 2 to 3 minutes. Cover and set aside off of the heat for 1 hour; then drain well.

4. Cook: Put soaked beans into a large pot and cover with 2 inches of water or stock. (don't add salt at this point, since that slows the beans softening.) Slowly bring to a boil, skimming off any foam on the surface. Reduce heat, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally and adding more liquid if necessary, until beans are tender when mashed or pierced with a fork. Cooking times vary with the variety, age and size of beans; generally you’ll be looking at about 1 to 2 hours.


Trivia Note: I have to check with Renee about this, but dreaming of beans is sometimes said to be a sign of impending conflict.

Fagioli all'Uccelletto recipe

Beans with a light tomato sauce and fragrant sage leaves: a Tuscan classic side dish. When added with sausage links, it becomes a perfect entrée.

I still haven't found the reason for their name, which translates "beans little bird-style."

Since the temperatures are dropping all over Italy this week, why not cook up some fagioli, watch a sports event on TV and call it an early night?

500 g (1 lb) dried cannellini (white beans), soaked for 3 hours.
50 g (1/4 cup) extra virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
7-8 leaves of fresh sage
1-2 fresh plum tomatoes or a small can of tomatoes (I use half of a 14-oz can)
Boiling water
Salt and pepper to taste
8 Italian link sausages (OPTIONAL see below)

If you choose to serve your fagioli all'uccelletto with sausages, you'll want to choose a kind that won't overpower the beans in terms of spice and oomph. For this dish, I always use 2 or 3 per guest of my favorite sausage, luganega.

Begin by boiling the beans until 3/4 done in lightly salted water. This will take about an hour, though you should begin checking them after 30 minutes. You don't want them to go mushy on you. If you are including sausages, prick their skins lightly with a fork and simmer them separately in boiling water to cover for 15 minutes to render out some of the fat.

Once the beans are almost done, set the olive oil to heat over medium heat, in a heavy bottomed clay pot or Dutch oven. When the oil has become hot but not smoking, add the garlic and the sage (not more than seven or eight leaves; too much sage will make the beans bitter). Cook until the sage crackles and the garlic is lightly browned.

Add the tomatoes and cook for a few more minutes, then add the beans and some of their bean broth to cover. Season with salt and pepper, add the sausages, and simmer everything until the beans are quite soft, stirring occasionally and adding bean broth as necessary to keep it all from drying out.

Which wine? I would go with a simple Chianti Classico.

And just in case, I suggest you sleep with the windows open...

The sky's on fire!

I must have been 4 years old. My dad held me tightly as the sky lit up in technicolor explosions. I was terrified, but his firm grip and familiar smell of Old Spice comforted me and made me feel safe in his capacious arms.

Me and Dad, 1976

The 4th of July evening celebrations catered by the American Embassy in Rome that year featured a barbecue and a firework show to which Rome was not accustomed to. We were among the hundreds of US citizens in the Eternal City, invited guests of the Ambassador that evening. An informal gathering, open house, they called it. All sprawled on the vast grassy expanse of the designated bucolic venue, everyone enjoyed the pyrotechnic performance. All but me. I wasn't having any fun. Those fireworks were scaring the hell out of me, I didn't understand their loudness, and I kept thinking the burning streaks would land on us, burning us alive. I had never seen such a fiery sight before.

I hid my face and curled up against my father's chest, damp grass underass and chilled toes in hand. If I shut my eyes, it'll stop, I kept mumbling, as my dad kept repeating, "don't worry," Easy for you to say. The apocalypse is ablast, and I'm not even potty trained.

I have patchwork memories of that otherwise festive night. I remember my mother not being there. She probably felt this had to be a father-daughter moment, us being the Americani in the family, and all. Or perhaps for another reason, the nature of which I know not. My assumption is that this was to be my dad's day with me, and she just backed out elegantly. I don't remember how long we stayed after, nor the food we ate before. I just have the recollection of that loud open night sky, alight with chrysanthemums of sparks and artificial stars.

It is an event that my father often reminds me of. I believe it was one of those bonding moments that inevitably happen between parent and offspring. Perhaps there, on that freshly mowed lawn that night, is where my father first felt the full weight of my child vulnerability. As he held my scared little being in his warm embrace, he probably understood how much a defenseless child is dependent on a father, on a pair of two strong arms and a soothing baritone voice. Maybe it made him feel good to calm me. And the relief was mutual. I was tiny and seeing the sky detonate in colors was a scary first for me. My dad's presence and his soft words of comfort made it all OK.

My dad's not too keen on emails. Until very recently, my father and I exchanged handwritten letters. He usually writes his on yellow lined notepad paper. His words are written in loopy rounded, large swooping characters. I have saved many of his letters in a special velvet folder, and I treasure them more than he can imagine. I keep one special one in my wallet. When my apartment got burgled (with me in the house: THAT'S something to be scared of, not fireworks!) and my handbag pillaged, I went straight to check not the monetary damage, but that the letter had not been dislodged from its space between the checkbook and the lottery stubs. It was still there. Here is an excerpt from that letter:

"The other day, July 4th, as we were finishing our phone call - I reminded you of that one time - years ago - when you had been afraid of the fireworks - and you replied 'yeah, but you held me in your arms, and you made it all OK.' Oh, Eleonora you don't know how happy I was that you remembered, and that you said that the other day. I love you so much, with all my heart - and I am so proud of you and of your life... (I'm crying now)..."

Every Sunday dad and I have an appointment. We talk on the phone. It's something we've done ever since I can remember. Sometimes it's a brief chat, sometimes it's a long marathon that lasts hours. We hardly ever exchange handwritten letters anymore, but that's alright. He is a loving father and a dedicated Grandfather for my son. He sends packaged boxes addressed to him filled with wonderful books in English, and toys, clothes and trinkets always accompanied by a sweet note and a few loving words for me too.

This summer my son and I will be visiting my dad in California. It will be my boy's first time on an airplane, his first time out of Italy, and my first intercontinental flight with toddler. We're both very excited and can't wait for our departure date. My dad though, seems to be the one who's the most anxious and giggly with anticipation for this trip. Phone calls and emails have doubled in these last few weeks. Sometimes we talk every day, exchanging short news updates or just for no reason at all other than hearing our voices. It will be a very important time for us, all together. My son's first encounter with his full American side of the family, and my first time back in the States as a mother. The new me in the New World. He is four and we'll be watching fireworks. History repeats itself.

I had forgotten that today is Father's Day there. We celebrate ours on March 19th, and it is a religious festivity besides being a family one. Reading a friend's post today reminded me that on the 3rd Sunday in June, in America, United Kingdom, France, India, Greece, Canada, Ireland, Japan, South Africa, Mexico and many other countries, daddies are honored and commemorated. We will be having our Father's Day barbecue later this year, on a sandy California beach somewhere, and it will include 3 generations.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I'm shooting fireworks for you here today. And my arms are open wide. It's all OK.

Me and Dad, 1976